


The Lie

by LeastExpected_Archivist



Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, Romance, Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2002-02-04
Updated: 2002-02-04
Packaged: 2021-03-07 01:49:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,864
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26498920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LeastExpected_Archivist/pseuds/LeastExpected_Archivist
Summary: By Sahari.As Merry's coming of age nears, Pippin's unhappiness grows.
Relationships: Merry Brandybuck/Pippin Took
Kudos: 5
Collections: Least Expected





	The Lie

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Amy Fortuna, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Least Expected](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Least_Expected), which has been offline since 2002. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in August 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on the [Least Expected collection profile](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/leastexpected/profile).
> 
> Story Notes: Sort of a prequel to ["No Lie"](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26498851)

It was a season short of Merry's 33rd birthday when things began to fracture in his long-sustained relationship with his best friend, Pippin. 

He didn't know exactly how it had happened. Well, perhaps he could trace it back to those times when his father, the Master of Buckland, had had him in his study for hours on end; Merry had broken more than one promise to Pippin on these occasions. The master wasn't subject to the same polite laws as most hobbit-folk, and rarely gave Merry enough time to throw on a coat before he was summoned. He would inevitably find Pippin relaxing in his sitting room, smoking in front of his fire and sulking. 

Pippin forgave him a few times, but as Merry's "coming of age" drew nearer and nearer, the younger Took began to absent himself, disappearing mostly to Hobbiton and the company of his other friends. A week before the party, Pippin vanished into Hobbiton altogether. 

No one knew exactly where Pippin had gone, until a letter arrived for Meriadoc Brandybuck from the Master of Bag End, Frodo Baggins himself. Under all the polite everyday talk was the inescapable summons: come and get Pippin. And under that, the underlying tone that it was somehow Merry's fault that Pippin was overstaying his welcome. 

He thought about it all the way to Hobbiton, mulling it over and over. Pippin had been restless and dissatisfied for a while now, and the source of it had always been a mystery to Merry. Surely Pippin knew Merry had no control over the whims of the Master of Buckland, and that such duties could no longer be shirked, now that he was out of his tweens. Pippin himself was 25. 

Peregrin Took in his mid-tweens. Now there was something to make one pause. They'd been inseparable almost to this very year; neither had formed any lasting attachments anywhere except at Bag End. Two days together could not go by without one or the other showing up on a doorstep, ready for some adventure, and that was some feat, considering how far their two homes were. 

The very thought that the companionship might end sent an unforeseen stab of panic through Merry. He knew it was something that would inevitably happen; one couldn't stay the years from passing, but he had long deluded himself, convincing himself that it would never really happen, that despite age and duties, he and Pippin would somehow always be together. 

Then suddenly he remembered. It had been a wet and cold night of deep drinking: Fatty Bolger's birthday. They'd been dead drunk, and had barely stumbled into Merry's hole before collapsing before the fire. There'd been laughter as Merry fumbled with getting the fire started and wet cloaks went this way and that by their clumsy owners. They'd wound up drinking apple cider from Merry's store, warding the next morning's hangovers, and somehow the conversation had turned somber, or at least as somber as two drunk hobbits could be, when one of them was Peregrin Took. 

Of the whole conversation, only one dialogue stood out clearly. 

"Do ya suppose this'll all end, Merry my man?" Pippin had asked, gesturing in a vague way to themselves and the fireplace, the drinks in their hands. "Once you're of age, you know. No more tramping the Shire here and there, no more late nights..." 

"Well, I don't know," Merry had replied, and he remembered being vaguely put off by the depressing conversation. Why did Pippin have to bring it up at all? "What's the use of thinking about it, Pip? Things will happen how they happen, how they're meant to happen, I suppose. We'll always be friends, won't we? Isn't that what's important?" 

Pippin had given him a strange look, as if he were about to cry, but the look passed, and he said instead: "I'll miss it all the same," in a small, sad voice. "No one understands me but you, Merry." And then the memory lost its focus and slipped away from him, giving him the ideas that other things were said beyond recall. 

That was when it must have begun. He could only guess that Pippin was beginning to cut the ties between them, seeing his birthday approaching. It was a painful thought, for the precocious lad was the dearest being to him in all the world, and he could not fathom why his best friend should find it necessary to be so abrupt about a process that he had hoped would never really conclude. He had imagined a slow withdrawal from one another, but he had not envisioned a complete cut...they'd always be friends, just not the extraordinarily close friends they'd been 'til now. 

He'd never really envisioned a life without Pippin. 

++++++++ 

Sam was working in the garden when Merry came through the gate. The burly gardener stood, wiping his hands on his trousers, and gave the Brandybuck a bow. 

"Good to see you, Sam," Merry said, "and your garden, I might add." 

"Well now, I didn't much think I'd see you 'til the party, Master Merry, then up says Master Frodo: 'Sam, watch out for that Meriadoc; he's come to fetch the fool Took.' Er, begging your pardon; his words, not mine." 

Merry had to laugh. "That's quite all right; he answers to Fool as commonly as he does to Pippin. Are they inside?" 

"Oh, of course. Should be finishing up elevenses. Go right ahead." 

Merry thought bitterly that he hadn't had a bit to eat since the evening before at the inn; his stomach had felt twisted since the morning, the closer he got to Bag End. 

Sure enough, Frodo and Pippin were at the table, not a crumb left between them, and drinking wine. Wine! Probably the best of the wineyard wasted on Pippin's over-young palate. 

"Haven't anything left for a weary traveler?" Merry asked, putting on a cheerful face. He could see at once that Pippin had not been warned of his coming, for his young friend's expression was something to behold, at turns surprised, then resentful, and then fatalistic. It was not the sort of welcome he could expect in the past, and made his stomach clench in mild dread. It was worse that he had thought. 

"Sure enough," Pippin replied in Frodo's place, who had gotten up to take his coat, the proper host. "There's all manner of nice things in the kitchen still." And with that he was off to fetch it. 

Merry and Frodo exchanged glances as the visitor settled. Frodo had long since adopted an undisturbed face for the world at large. Considering his situation and breeding, one could expect nothing else from the Master of Bag End, who was well past his own majority, though he looked hardly out of it. However, Merry could see that something was definitely preoccupying his friend. 

"He hasn't made a nuisance of himself, has he?" he asked inquired. 

"Not out of the common way, no," Frodo replied with a little smile. "He's been troubled, and well, it's difficult to see him so unhappy; one gets used to his smiles." 

"Yes," Merry said. One did, at that. 

"So you know what it's about, then?" Frodo asked, some of the concern glimmering through. 

"He's mad at me, I imagine. I haven't been much of a friend lately." 

Frodo opened his mouth, but Pippin was back from the larder, and what he might have said was lost as the youngest set down a small feast in front of Merry. 

"Does this make us friends again?" he asked flippantly. "I got all your favorite things, except that Frodo here has no beer." 

"You know very well I've been lusting after Mr. Baggin's wine stores, Pip my lad," Merry returned, and set to the food regardless while Frodo poured him a glass. 

Pippin waited until his mouth was full before asking point blank: "So, how did you know I was here?" 

Merry almost choked, then glared at his friend while he deliberately chewed and swallowed, committing sacrilege by using the old wine to wash his throat clear. It gave him time to figure out the answer. "Where else would you be, but in Hobbiton? Seemed logical to me." 

Good thing Frodo has such a perfect game face, Merry thought enviously. Pippin would get neither confirmation nor denial from a glance at him. 

"I thought we'd go back to Buckland together for my party," Merry added. 

"What, one last hurrah before you bury yourself under your inheritance?" Pippin quipped, but there was a bitter darkness under the flippant words. "I would have come back. Frodo's coming to your party, too, you know." 

Silence. Never in his life had Pippin spoken to him in this cold fashion. 

If this was what Pippin had felt in the last months, this shocked pain, then perhaps he understood after all. Merry had no reply, and stared sightlessly at his food while Frodo cleared his throat. 

"Will you be staying the night, then, Cousin? We've plenty of rooms, and to spare." 

"My thanks, Frodo," he responded, giving his older cousin a smile as he avoided looking at Pippin. "I'm sorry to be trouble." 

"Not at all. Let me look to the linens; enjoy your wine." 

Was that a look of pity on Frodo's face as he left the two of them at the table? 

"Merry." 

"Mm." Still, Merry did not look up. 

"Why did you come here?" 

Why indeed? It seemed foolhardy now. "Because you're my best friend," he said, because it was the simplest truth. 

There was such a long pause after that that Merry looked up, to find Pippin staring at him, the strangest look on his face. Merry did not know what to make of it. It was something like frustration, and a little like sadness. 

"Am I? And is it enough?" Pippin asked softly, and raised a hand to chew at his thumbnail, a sure sign to anyone who knew him well that he was distressed. 

Merry stared back, blinking. He set down his wine and cleared his throat, half-wishing they weren't having this inevitable conversation. Denial had been easier. "Is it over, then? Like that?" 

"No, not just like that!" Pippin shouted, pushing back from the table so violently that the plates rattled. "If you think I'm giving up the one person who ever cared a wit about me, then you're more a fool than I! If you want to end it, then go ahead and make the cut. I'll be dead first!" And with that he was out of the room, and from the sound of the slamming of the door, out into the road. 

Merry blinked and wiped at his eyes. Frodo came in, looking rather stunned. "Was that Pippin shouting?" he asked. 

"Something like. Seems he wants us to remain friends." Shakily, Merry drained his wine cup and began to stack his dishes. 

"I thought that was a good thing," his cousin mused, joining in on the cleaning up. "Why all the noise?" 

"I have no idea." 

Frodo made a soft noise in his throat and they took the dishware into the kitchen. "You know, Merry, I think I should conscientiously betray confidences, or else I fear this will go on forever." 

Merry's attention was caught. "What confidences? Pippin's confidences?" 

"Mm. Well, just two of them. First of all, there seems to be some problem with communication with you. He's been trying to talk to you..." 

"I know, and I'm never about anymore." 

"Well, not just that. He said that every time talk would get serious, you'd drink, and be too drunk for anything worth sense." 

Merry shook his head. "Well, we drink together. What does he expect?" 

"I suppose that when the conversation turns serious, that you would not drink even more." 

"I don't--" Merry began, and wondered if it wasn't the truth. The blurry conversations were an indication that perhaps he was secretly avoiding them with drink. 

"And, of course, what he's been trying to tell you this whole while," Frodo added, stilling and waiting for Merry's undivided attention. 

"Yes?" 

"That he loves you." 

"So? That's no secret. I love the fool back." 

Frodo sighed in exasperation. "No wonder he's been driven daft. Merry! You're not listening!" 

"Yes I am! Pippin loves me. I know that." 

"Merry, I'm telling you, he loves you in exclusion of all else. He's told me he won't marry; he won't marry! Have I finally gotten it through your thick skull?" 

Surely he hadn't heard that correctly? "He won't marry..." he echoed. "That can't be right, Frodo." 

"It can, and it will be. I've never seen anyone more determined. You haven't encouraged this, then?" 

"Frodo! He isn't even old enough...!" 

The master looked relieved. "I thought not, but ..." He smiled briefly. "...Well, you're in a unique position as his best friend to make a go at it." 

"I haven't even 'made a go' at it, as you say! I don't think he's even..." His brows crooked, recalling misty conversations drowned in drink, and a flash of Pippin's wide green-gray eyes, far too close to be anything but intimate. "Oh, oh no." 

Frodo waited him out, watching his expression curiously. 

"The thing is, I think he's brought it up...but not when I'm sober and can remember clearly." 

"That seems to be the problem," the master of Bag End agreed. "And I do believe both of you are to blame. Pippin blames you for drinking when serious conversation is to be had, but I think he might be choosing times that ensure he isn't heard. Perhaps to avoid rejection." 

"He's too young, Frodo." 

"Well, yes, if you look at it on paper...he won't be in his majority for seven years, but as you and I know, many hobbits don't care to wait until their thirties to make love. And I have to tell you, if that lad grows any more handsome in the next seven years, you'll start to have heavy competition soon." 

Merry laughed...a short laugh, vaguely bitter. "So I snatch him before that happens, like some old lecher hovering...?" He stopped, conscious of the sudden look of pain on Frodo's face...Frodo who was at least 20 years older, and could be considered 'old.' "You know what I mean!" he pleaded. "How do I even think about it, with such an innocent?" 

The conversation had gone back and forth between dining room and kitchen. His cousin took up the last cup from the table, his own drink and drained it before setting it with the dishes. He said slowly: "Like most difficult things, you will have to think about it, Merry, because it must be done. The situation will not get any better; it can conceivably get much worse." 

Worse, thought Merry in dismay. Frodo read it in his face. 

"If he's hurt enough, Merry, Pippin is capable of doing stupidly desperate things. You know this as well as I." 

"Like...?" 

"Choosing someone else out of spite. Giving up on your friendship. Leaving you altogether. " 

Merry stared at Frodo in growing horror, because he knew his cousin was dead right. Pippin was capable of such measures, because he was sometimes less than rational and made many decisions by way of his emotions. 

Like storming out of Bag End without his coat. 

"Frodo, I think..." He gestured out the front. 

"Yes, I think you ought to," Frodo agreed, reading his motions. "Don't forget both your coats..." 

Merry nodded his understanding as he headed out, and almost ran into Samwise as he rushed out through the round door and down the steps through the garden. 

"So sorry, Sam! Did you happen to see...?" 

"Master Pippin? Yes, sir! He dashed right out without a by-your-leave and headed out towards the village. Is there anything I can...?" 

"Thank you, no, Sam. I'll go talk to him. Frodo's cleaning up." 

Sam watched him trot down the road, frowning in concern, then glanced back to see Frodo standing in the open doorway. "Are you all right, sir?" 

"I'm fine, Sam." Frodo's eyes, a strange combination of Brandybuck blue and Tookish gray, had taken on that worried look that always gave Samwise the sinking feeling that he wasn't doing enough to assuage his master's anxiety. "How are the primroses?" 

"A little rust on them, but I've watered them with the right infusion. They should be perking up right as rain." 

"Good. I always like watching them through the window," Frodo replied, giving Sam a brief, thankful smile. "I'm making tea. Would you like a cup?" 

"I'll have to wash up first, sir." 

"If you must," Frodo replied with a more enigmatic look. "Come join me in the study." 

Sam watched him vanish within the shadows of Bag End. For some reason, Pippin's visit had not cheered up Frodo as it usually did, leaving his master more careworn and introspective than with his usual solitude. 

Merry had a pretty good idea of where to find Pippin. He had long understood that both of them followed a well-worn set of patterns in their behavior. There were parts of Hobbiton that Pippin definitely preferred; a crook-limbed tree that cradled the climber in its arms; a small meadow that bloomed purple, yellow and white with wildflowers; a shady grove of trees along the roadside... 

Which was where he found Pippin, by creeping along the forest's edge and avoiding the road where he would be seen approaching. The fool Took was sitting in the grass, his arms clutched around himself in the cold shade, and chewing at his nails. Merry circled the tree on the inside and dropped Pippin's bottle-green coat into his lap. Pippin started, then glared resentfully up at Merry with eyes more green than gray, but took the coat and pulled it on quickly. Merry sank down next to him. 

"I don't want it to be over," he said. "You know I don't." 

Pippin chewed on his lip, staring straight ahead. "Yes, you do. You're just letting us grow further and further apart!" 

"Pippin...you know that I don't have control over--" 

"It's not that! I know you have responsibilities! I have more of them, too...it's that through all of this, even when we can see each other, you never--!" Pippin stopped, wiping at his eyes. "You never talk to me, Merry, not like you used to." 

"Pippin, my lad..." 

"No! I'm not your 'lad,' and I'm not your little cousin anymore! But you never see it. Even Frodo has stopped treating me like I've half a brain." 

Merry sighed, letting his face drop into his hands. "What can I say? You've always been the child, Pip. I know you're growing up; I do know it. I don't know if what you want is...well..." He glanced down and stopped, seeing Pippin's green-gray eyes watching him intently. He felt his throat seize up at that earnest look, and remembered how Frodo had called Pippin handsome. He'd never thought so before, but it wasn't a child's face staring up at him anymore. Pippin had the rounder face of most Tooks, and also had acquired their tilted eyes and pixie-like features, but what used to be a mischievous, cherubic visage was thinning out, and the adult lines were already becoming visible underneath. Along with the brown hair that ran golden in the summer, these Tookish features had spawned some interesting myths concerning their origins, from fairy wives to Elven blessings. 

"Yes?" Pippin prompted, light brows crooked. "What I want--?" 

"What do you want? I mean, from me?" 

Pippin's gaze narrowed. For a long moment, he seemed torn between several answers, but then replied: "I want you to...take me seriously." 

Merry breathed out. Maybe Frodo had misinterpreted after all. "I can do that." 

Suddenly Pippin lurched, throwing his arms about Merry's shoulders, his whole frame shaking. Merry grabbed hold of him reflexively, startled. It had been a long time since Pippin had thrown himself into Merry's embrace like a small child. It brought back those golden years when Merry had watched over his adoring younger cousin, where every scraped knee and stubbed toe brought golden-haired Pippin running for his arms. 

"I thought you wanted me to take you seriously," Merry reprimanded gently to the top of Pippin's head. "I thought you were all grown up now." 

Pippin shook his head, his face still buried in Merry's coat. He slowly pulled back, blinking tearfully, arms sliding off of his friend's shoulders until his fists were clenched on Merry's lapels. The green-gray eyes he raised were unnaturally bright and his face was wet. 

Merry brushed his fingers across wet cheeks as he had years before. Pippin's fair lashes were spiky and his cheeks were flushed, and for a long, still moment all movement and breath stopped. For a second Merry thought he remembered...something...and it froze his heart in terror. Pippin was too young! 

"Merry..." 

"Pip, I..." Horrified, he realized that Pippin's slender body was pressed against his, and that he had the perfect face cupped in his hands. By the Lady, this could not be happening! 

"Merry...you know, I..." 

A hay cart rumbled past on the road, its driver whistling a lazy tune. Merry's head jerked up, perturbed by the fact that he had not heard the obvious sound before. 

"Merry." 

He stood, pulling Pippin up with him. Pip's eyes went wide as he, too, realized how close the cart was to their place under the trees. Then he sighed, and resignedly followed Merry back to Bag End. 

Frodo had dinner ready as they returned, chilled, the sun setting behind them. He guided them to the fireplace, sat them down and had Sam, who had stayed on to help, set the table. 

"Are they all right, sir?" Sam asked, concerned by the unnatural silence of the two cousins. 

"I'm not sure. I can only hope they can talk out their differences, or better yet, act on them." 

Sam gave him a questioning glance but did not ask. Frodo smiled and touched his arm. "Thank you for staying on tonight, Sam." 

Sam ducked his head, flushing. "Anytime, Mr. Frodo." 

Frodo's answering smile was strangely strained, but then his blue eyes softened and he patted Sam's shoulder before moving toward the kitchen. 

There was something definitely wrong, and Sam stood staring after him, then blinked, returning to setting the table. It was obviously not his concern and he tried not to think about it. 

Pippin picked at his food at dinner, and watched Merry surreptitiously from the corner of his eyes. There was still a bitter lump somewhere in his chest, but it was easier now to ignore it and tell himself that all would be well. Merry was still his friend. 

He was such a coward! Why didn't he say what he really felt, rather than take the easy way out? Frodo had been right; it was the hardest thing in the world to tell the one you loved how you felt, and even harder when you couldn't know if the feeling was returned. 

He took a drink of beer, and stole a look at Samwise, who was attending his own meal and nodding to Merry's list of items they would need for the ride back to Buckland. 

He supposed Sam was a handsome fellow, in that brawny, tanned way of those who worked out of doors, very different from Frodo's pale, refined beauty. And dependable. One could do worse. If only Frodo would show Sam how he felt...but who was he to encourage his friend when he himself couldn't--? 

"I take it space will be at a premium?" Frodo was asking, referring to Merry's party. Merry was the only son of the Master, and since this was the birthday of all birthdays, it was a natural assumption. Every third cousin in Buckland would be there. 

"We'll be doubling up quite a bit," Merry said. "We've a room for you, Frodo, and I'd like Sam to come, too. Is it too much to ask that you share?" 

Sam opened his mouth to protest the impropriety of it but Frodo was already nodding. "That will be fine," he said. "I'm sure we'll manage." 

Pippin rolled his eyes at Sam's outraged expression; the poor hobbit was trying to digest the idea of sharing a room with his master. Oh, yes, Frodo had a hard path ahead of him to overcome all of that class-distinction garbage. Sam would probably insist on sleeping on the floor, or some such. 

Funny how he never thought about it until Frodo and he had that heart-to-heart talk. Now it was so obvious. 

He glanced again at Merry who was involved in his ale. Why did he have to love this cousin so much? It wasn't Merry's charm, although he had that and to spare; Pippin had seen Merry at his least charming. It wasn't his handsome face, even though Merry had those dark blue eyes so indicative of a true Bucklander and a riot of curly black hair that seemed to beckon for some charitable soul to smooth it. It wasn't even long acquaintance, for usually a long friendship such as theirs would have killed any form of attraction with familiarity. It was just that he was Merry: mischievous, but knowing his limits; aggressive yet gentle as a lamb; knowledgeable but not book-deep; sweet yet with an edge; practical but capable of dropping common sense when needed; mature and self-confident yet still a little boy sometimes. 

And really, really, really ... attractive. It was the only way Pippin could think of this new, adult feeling that had sprouted up over the last few years. Merry made his heart jump and speed up, made his breath short, made him touch himself when he closed his eyes and imagined...what it would be like to have Merry really kiss him. Pippin had tried it once, but they had both been drunk after Fatty's birthday, which was the state of affairs now for almost every time they were alone together. Merry had stared at him in confusion and finally pushed him away. It hurt to remember it, but Merry never brought it up, so Pippin assumed he'd forgotten, as he tended to forget many things under the influence of good beer. 

"Where's Pippin staying?" 

Pip raised his head, startled to hear his name. 

"With me, like always, I suppose," Merry said unthinkingly. That was probably the one quality Pippin really hated about his best friend, his stubborn obliviousness. He had a good heart, but it took a lot to get to it. 

Frodo lifted a brow and looked at Pippin as if to ask if that would be all right. 

"Oh, it's like old times again," Pippin said cheerfully, determined to be just as oblivious, if not more so. He would not think of sharing a bed with Merry with his feelings the way they were now. He would think about it later. "But if he drinks too much and starts to snore, I'm rolling him out." 

Sam laughed, startling himself, then flushed and looked down at his plate. Ah, well, you could take the hobbit out of his class, but hardly take the class out of the hobbit, one supposed. Still shy about laughing with his "betters." 

The trip east was awkward, because Pippin could sense Merry was having trouble dealing with the status of their new relationship. Conversation was stilted but they made it to Buckland in good time. 

Pippin was installed in his usual empty room, since his arrival was somewhat early, and he helped wherever he could with preparations. Merry's parents considered him an extension of Merry himself, and this was both exasperating and heart-warming. 

The morning of the birthday, he was finally ushered into Merry's larger room when Frodo and Sam arrived and took his over. They had stopped off in Pincup, and had taken a leisurely trip through Buckland. Sam still seemed uncomfortable about sharing a room with his master, which made Pippin wonder how the arrangements had gone during the trip over. Probably slept on blankets in the sitting room. There was no sitting room in this particular room. Merry's had one, but it was a study, and its particular size and design did not allow for anywhere to lay down. 

He tried not to think of what was going to happen that night when they would once again share a bed. 

Instead, he threw himself into preparations and became an unofficial greeter at the party field gate, relieved later on by Merry's closer cousins, Berilac and Ilberic, two of the more handsome Brandybucks, and something of a tongue-twister when said in tandem. The gifts given on this particular birthday were grand, from coins to toys for the children. 

He knew better than to try to find Merry; on this day of days, he would be constantly surrounded by well-wishers and sycophants. So Pippin sought out friends, keeping company with Sam and Frodo for a while, then moving off to dance when the mood took him. 

The dinner was extraordinary. Merry kept his speech short, which pleased everyone, urging his guests to enjoy the meal; as they set to eating, he came by and sat with Pippin for a time. 

"I'm sorry to not be too attentive," he said, looking tired and worn out. He had a server bring him a tankard of beer. "Are you enjoying yourself?" 

"It's a fantastic party, Merry," Pippin professed. "I'll be lucky if mine is half so grand! Don't worry for me. Once things die down, I'll keep company with Frodo again." 

Merry ruffled his hair, smiling, and moved on. Pippin tried to keep a good face on it, but despite appearances, he was vaguely depressed. It was a special day, and as usual, he was spending it without his best friend. 

He wandered, finding friends and cousins in the crowd. As he was walking the perimeter of the party field, looking for Frodo or Sam, he was hailed by a handsome, sandy-haired hobbit who turned out to be Athos Proudfoot. Athos had been something of a scandal, Pippin recalled; he was one of the few besides Berilac Brandybuck that made no secret of preferring men over women in his bed. They had learned their letters together, but otherwise ran in different circles. 

"Is this little Peregrin Took?" the hobbit asked with a smile. "You've grown very nicely since last I saw you." 

"I'd have to, in ten years, now, wouldn't I? How are you, Athos?" 

"Oh, then you do remember me. Fine, fine. Why aren't you with his majesty, the heir presumptive?" 

Pippin had to laugh. "You mean Merry? He's too busy today." 

"I thought you two were inseparable, but I'm glad to see I've been proven wrong." 

"Oh?" The gleam in Athos's eyes was something Pippin hadn't seen before aimed at himself, but he knew what it was from watching others. Athos was flirting with him! 

"I'm hoping to convince you that my company is worth keeping, if you're amenable." 

Pippin was flattered. People didn't often claim such fondness for him. Despite himself, he had been feeling abandoned by Merry, and his spirits lifted. 

"You can try," Pippin quipped with a grin. 

"Ah beautiful and witty; you've turned out right proper. Come walk with me in the garden." 

It was getting late, and the party was slowing down, but Merry could not find Pippin anywhere. He found Frodo and asked after his wayward friend, but it was Sam who recalled that he'd seen Pippin with Athos Proudfoot. 

Sam did not approve of Athos. "Hounding after his betters, if you ask me." 

Merry didn't approve of Athos for other reasons that one did not bring up in mixed company. Two years before, Athos had groped Merry under the table and later accosted him in the pantry room during a get together. Merry had been too drunk to put up much of a defense, and it was only the fact that another hobbit had come to the pantry to find something that had saved him from certain doom. He had avoided Athos since. 

He looked for that distinctive sandy hair, but saw neither Athos nor Pippin. He thought he knew where someone like Athos might find a private place. The gardens over the northern hedge were somewhat notorious, and were screened from view from the party field. 

He told himself he was not even remotely worried as he collected two beers, and strode off through the entryway carved in the hedge. He glanced around, and made his way down the bush rows, keeping his ears open. 

"Do you really think he'll ever want you? What's the point of waiting for him?" 

Merry stopped, sloshing ale over the side of the mugs in his hands. There were too many bushes obscuring his view, but he could have sworn that sounded like a Proudfoot, who usually had a distinctive dialect out of Scary. 

"What are you talking about?" Pippin's clear voice rang out, indignant and breathless. Merry sighed in relief. Found at last! 

"He's so full of himself, that one. And if he ever condescended to notice you, he wouldn't know what to do with you once he did. You're better off with someone who can appreciate you, Pippin. You're a right handful in the best way." 

"That's right," another voice joined in. "Why should you wait? We can show you a better time of it, anyway, Athos and me. We'll show you how it is." 

Merry could barely breathe, waiting to hear Pippin's reply, dreading it almost as much as he anticipated it. Why was Pip silent? 

"You think so?" Pippin asked, his voice a little too slurred by drink, and there was odd tone there that Merry had never heard before...invitation. 

Invitation? Challenge? 

"You think not?" a mocking laughing voice responded, a muffled noise was aborted, bodies moving, and something falling. 

Merry moved, not quickly but purposefully, his feet finding familiar stone steps edged with damp moss; he was not trying to be quiet. 

It was the right thing, because as he took the turn at the bottom of the step, he came across a scene frozen in wariness of the new intruder, three pairs of eyes trying to identify him in the dimness, with the light behind him. 

It was a curious scene. Athos's arms were about Pippin's ribs and the unknown hobbit behind Pippin had a hold on the younger hobbit's waist. Pip was wedged but not pliant; the heels of his hands were against Athos's chest and his head turned away from both of them. His wide green-gray eyes were dilated, but his young face was determined. 

Then Pippin realized who he was, and the expression turned dismayed, then shuttered. 

Athos laughed. "Why Merry, have you dragged yourself from your own party? Decided to slum it?" 

"Not particularly," Merry responded, thoughts darkening. It must have shown in his face, for the arms about Pippin loosened. "Though I have to wonder if it isn't what Pippin's doing out here." 

"Now wait a minute," the strange hobbit said at the implied insult. 

"Merry..." Pippin said, shedding the two of them like an unneeded coat, and there was confirmation in the relief on his face, the sudden clear look of freedom. 

"That's not necessary, Meriadoc," Athos said. "We're all friends here." 

"Are we? I don't know your friend there, and I don't know what you thought you were doing." He glanced at Pippin as his friend approached, his shaky steps and pale features confirming and deepening his anger. 

"Merry," Pippin repeated. "Don't..." 

Meriadoc stared down at a face that managed to be cherubic despite bleary eyes, damp brow and flushed cheeks. It had to be those gold-touched curls and wide guileless eyes. Dead drunk, Pippin had the power to stop him. 

Over his shoulder, Athos smirked knowingly. Merry observed him with dark eyes, then glanced at his friend. "Take the ale in, would you?" he asked gently. "It's for Frodo and Sam," he lied. 

Pippin glanced uncertainly back but Merry softly pushed him in the right direction. 

Athos knew what was coming; he was smart enough to spot the signs. But apparently this knowledge did not stop him from continuing. "Meriadoc, you can hardly deny that Pip deserves a good tup. The sweet thing is begging for it, and since you're so reluctant to give him what he obviously wants, what wrong with someone else giving him a try? But no, if Master Meriadoc can't fuck him, then neither does anyone else! Give over, Merry. You can't have it both ways." 

"Pippin can have whomever he wants," Merry said, pushing up his sleeves, "as long as it's not while he's drunk and pushing them away." And then he swung. 

Frodo and Sam saw Pippin off on their way to bed. Pippin was relieved that someone had kept the fire up, because he didn't think he could focus enough to start one up himself. Clumsily he pulled at his clothes, letting them flutter here and there until he was sliding between cool sheets, sighing. 

He had no memory of falling asleep but was well aware when Merry slid in next to him. He could tell that his friend had imbibed, himself, and recently. It woke him a bit, blinking in the fire-lit glow. On one arm, he examined the hobbit next to him, his dark hair riotously curly from the damp of the evening. 

"Merry?" 

A groan answered him. 

"What's happened? Why are you so late?" 

"Things to take care of. Nothing. Go to sleep, Pip..." 

"I wanted to talk to you." 

Another groan. "There'll be no sense coming from me tonight." 

Drunk; absolutely resolutely inebriated. Pippin wanted to cry, and then he wanted to shout. He pulled back the sheets and stared down at eyes so darkly blue that they seemed night-dark, and there was a deepening bruise along one cheek. 

"You fought," he breathed. "Then you drank yourself into a puddle. Then you came here." 

"Mmm." Merry's eyes closed. 

Pippin's finger tentatively traced the line of the bruise, and drifted to lips softly open in unconscious ease. "Did you hit Athos?" 

Merry's lips smiled against his fingers. "Oh yes, the bastard." 

Pippin had to smile, too, at the smugness inherent at that faint bowing of lips. "Merry, I love you." 

Dark eyes opened slowly but Merry said nothing. Pippin bent, helpless, kissing soft lips that made him sob at their passivity. "Merry, why...?" Why do you have to drink yourself stupid to be here with me? 

Merry's mouth opened to let him in and Pippin moaned at the feel of a heavy, lethargic hand sliding through his hair. The taste of brandy and Merry penetrated and Pippin could have cried out at the shock as his own body suddenly tightened and heated. It was too sudden and too hopeless. Merry wasn't really there, half asleep and half unconscious, and Pippin's mind knew this too well although his body was ignoring the facts. 

Oh, Merry. 

But it was too much like the past, when he had relied on fatigue and alcohol to shield himself from his own fears of rejection. He could not keep on this hopeless pursuit, courting only when he knew he was safe, allowing forgetfulness to leave it all undecided. 

And yet...Merry's lips were so hot and drugging and the slow, experienced way he kissed Pippin back so mesmerizing...Pippin wanted never to come up for air, just go on tasting the pliant mouth, touch the dense body under wilted linen, tug at black curls that never quite managed to be elegant like Frodo's but twined endlessly, see bottomless dark blue eyes staring back at him, dilated and dazed... 

Pippin reared back, dismayed. Was it Merry who was avoiding him with drinking, or was it himself, always waiting for drunken moments so that Merry could not say yea or nay? 

Oh, but he's managed to say no, Pippin thought, and he could almost feel his heart cracking in two, remembering that long ago conversation in front of the fire, and a kiss. It had ended with Merry pushing him away in drunken befuddlement, and it had been the beginning of the end, the start of a downward spiral that ended here, at this moment, with Pippin finally seeing what he had made for himself... some grand illusion that he was the injured party, that Merry perfectly understood and was avoiding, when it was himself who was denying everything... 

Sobbing, Pippin sat back on his heels, staring sightlessly as Merry fell asleep. He knew he had to go, and it had to be tonight, and it nigh put an arrow through his heart to think it. But Merry was thirty-three now, and would have an adult life, and perhaps, in time, Pippin could bring himself around to be friends again, and not think on the other dream that he had held for so long. 

There could be letters, and one good excuse after another; he'd send little gifts to assure his cousin that nothing was really wrong, just sudden responsibilities, perhaps an illness in the family. Nothing wrong at all. 

Just Pippin slowly dying on the inside until his heart was so constricted, withered and hard that nothing could breach it ever again. 

++++++++++++++++++ 

Merry's hangover was spectacularly cruel when he came awake at mid-day. No one had awoken him, in deference to his birthday, but he was still surprised to find a note from Pippin saying that he was returning to the Great Smials on family business. In fact, he frowned at the note for a long moment, sitting up in bed, as if willing more words or explanations to appear. 

Had they quarreled last night? He thought not. Pippin seemed as pleased as he was that he'd knocked Athos on his face. He'd thought things might have been mended a bit. 

But, no, he'd drunk yet more liquor, hadn't he? Why had he done it? He had been in such a state, and deliberately drank to avoid... so many things. Despite of his general disgust with Athos's behavior, several of the Proudfoot's words had definitely wedged themselves into his consciousness. 

He turned his head into the pillow, and stiffened, startled by a memory flashing across his inner eye at the smell of rumpled linen. He sat up, frowning to himself, internally searching for the truth. Fragment of a dream or true reality? 

"Merry, I love you." 

"Merry, why...?" 

Something had happened...the feeling of Pippin's airy curls between his fingers, soft, trembling lips against his own... He pressed the heel of hand to his gritty eyes, growling to himself. No, no, no, no! 

When he finally bathed and made himself presentable, it was already early evening, and his father gave him a lecture after seeing his bruised face, and another one for abandoning his lingering houseguests. He ducked his head in resignation and hosted a more intimate dinner party for his friends and relatives, finally retiring with Frodo and Sam in his parlor for pipeweed and wine. 

"Where's Master Pippin?" Sam inevitably asked. 

"He headed home before I got up," Merry said, and avoided looking at Frodo, afraid to see that knowing expression. Frodo had the annoying habit of being extremely observant and just as accurate with his estimations. 

"Another argument?" the master of Bag End inquired mildly. 

"I don't think so," Merry replied truthfully. "Especially since I got this bruise in his defense." 

Samwise leaned forward, eager for facts and even Frodo raised a curious eyebrow, so Merry gave an expurgated version of the night's conflicts. Frodo was naturally disapproving but Sam had an appreciative look, although he didn't dare say anything encouraging aloud. What a pair of marrieds they were! 

"I told you Pippin's old enough to start collecting suitors," Frodo said. "I suppose you believe me now?" 

"Oh, I believed you in the first place. I just can't believe that fool would get himself into that position, going out into the garden of all places! We all know what happens there." 

"Perhaps he actually wanted to be there?" Frodo asked. 

Merry glared. "With those two? Even Pip has better taste!" 

Frodo's arched brows made Merry rethink the situation. No, Pippin was relieved to leave! He was sure of it! And why would Pip want them when he could have--? No, no, no! He wasn't going to think like that. Athos had been wrong. He wasn't jealous; he didn't have the right to be jealous. Pippin could go off with anyone he wanted! Just as long as who he wanted was... 

"Yes, he does," Frodo replied. "He had exquisite taste, though I think he doesn't chose for discernment." 

"You think he resents--?" 

"Last night? No, not the fight, anyway. Although you might want to think about why you felt it necessary to defend Pippin's honor and not let him do it for himself. Do you still see him as a child?" 

"No, not as a child." 

"Well, that's one thing anyway." 

Merry sighed. He really wished Frodo didn't see quite so clearly. 

He was stuck in Buckland for a month. Two weeks in, he was beginning to wonder about Pippin when a letter came from said hobbit. 

It was light-hearted, asking about his bruises and hangover, and relating all the different small emergencies taking up his time at the Great Smials. There was a pressed violet included in the letter, but no mention of a time when they might meet up again. 

Merry read the missive with mixed feelings. There was something missing in the narrative, but he was never one to read between the lines, and only had a vague feeling that Pippin was holding back. He went over the letter several times, then gave up. 

He wrote back that night, in the same vein. He didn't mention that he missed Pippin immensely, or that he was still stinging from his friend's rapid exit the morning after the party. He wrote, instead, about the duties that his father was slowly handing over to him, and remembered that his cousin Ilberic had invited him to his engagement party two months hence; he was marrying a Bracegirdle girl in Pincup, the little village exactly halfway between Buckland and Tuckborough. 

Two weeks later he received another letter. In it, Pippin said he too would be going to the engagement party as well, and probably staying overnight at the Red Hen Inn in Pincup. He conspicuously did not mention sharing a room, or ask if Merry was staying in the area. In fact, the letter was rather abrupt, leaving Merry depressed and wondering. He did not write back. 

It was at this time that Merry started to dream about Pippin. Horrified, he'd wake up hard and ready to spend after visions of Pippin underneath him. He managed to live in denial for a few weeks of this. He went out of his way to find a boy to plunder just to take the sexual edge off, but finally had to admit that he didn't want anyone, really, anyone who wasn't ...this dream-boy. 

He'd wake almost every night, sweating and on the cusp of orgasm, shaking his head, trying to shake out the images of his dreams. They presented him with the night of his birthday, of Pippin ready and willing in his arms, of soft and demanding lips. Merry, I love you. 

Just hearing that inner dream-voice, so close to Pippin's own, would sometimes put him over the edge. 

By the time he was gearing up for the engagement party, he was sporting dark circles under his eyes and the realization that he was miserable. 

Life without Pippin wasn't working now, if it ever had. 

Peregrin Took, Pippin signed in the inn's ledger, smiling at the keeper who was taking his luggage in hand and waiting to lead him upstairs. 

"You're one of the Ilberic guests, I take it, Young Master?" the man asked. 

"Yes." 

"Seems half of Buckland is, too, and wagonloads of goods coming in from both sides." Both sides was a Pincup euphemism for Tuckborough and Buckland, the two large communities on either side that gave Pincup its prime business. 

"Have you got Meriadoc Brandybuck as one of your guests?" 

"Oh, yes. He's quite a masterful young man, that Brandybuck heir. He led in a caravan this afternoon, and walked right in. He and the other young bucks have the whole third floor." 

"It's that big a party from Buckland?" 

"Oh, yes. That Ilberic has a lot of cousins in that warren of theirs." The innkeeper opened up a modest room on the second floor, and knelt to get the fire started. "We're serving all meals, young sir, but I'm supposing you won't be needing them tomorrow?" 

"No, not tomorrow." The engagement party was going to be extravagant. "My thanks." 

It had been a long ride, and Pippin was more tired than he thought possible. Most of it was from distress over knowing that Merry would be here. They hadn't been face to face since Merry's birthday. Pippin had struggled almost daily to not ride hard to Buckland, and forget his painful determination to keep apart from him. 

He unpacked his party clothes and hung them by the fire to get rid of the wrinkles. He stared longingly at the bed, but knew once he lay down, he would not be able to close his eyes, knowing that Merry would be just above him. 

Sighing, he straightened his back and left his room. Halfway up the stairwell, he could hear voices laughing and hobbits moving about. He emerged and almost ran into a dark haired hobbit swinging around the banister to descend. Pippin's heart nearly stopped. 

For a moment, it looked like Merry, but Pippin recognized this very close cousin of his; it was Berilac, Merry's handsome and free-swinging second cousin who was the first hobbit Pippin had found out preferred men. At the time it had been a shock. 

"Pippin!" Berilac exclaimed, grinning. "I'm glad to see you. It's been too long!" 

Pippin returned his enthusiastic hug, smiling. "Hullo, Berry. Good to see you." 

The Bucklander stood back and gave Pippin a head-to-toe examination, his eyebrows rising. "Apparently, I haven't been lingering enough in Tuckborough, if this is how you little Tooks develop. Merry never told me you've grown up so well." 

I don't think Merry notices such things, Pippin was tempted to point out. He shrugged instead. 

"I imagine you're looking for Meriadoc hisself," Berilac went on. "He's under the weather and having a quiet time of it, or trying to, with all of this noise." 

"Is he sick?" Pippin asked, alarmed. 

"No, not really. Not sleeping very well, is all. Personally, I think he's too alone these days." Berry gave him a meaningful look. "He doesn't do much except work for his father." 

Pippin didn't rise to the bait, but followed Berry to the suite at the end of the hall. It was one of the larger ones with a sitting room, so Berilac opened the door after a quick tap on the door. "Merry, you've a visitor." 

"I told you, I don't want..." Merry growled, peering around the back of the chair he was occupying in front of the fire. Then he stopped, eyes widening. "Pip." 

"Hullo, Old Man. Thought I'd come up and pay my respects." 

Merry got up from his chair. Pippin was stunned. Merry didn't look well at all. His complexion, which was always somewhat pale, was now pasty, and there were visible shadows under his eyes. "Come on in, Pip," he said, gesturing to the other chair by the fire. 

Berilac excused himself with a smile. 

"You don't look good at all," Pippin said. "Berry said sleeping problems." 

"Berry doesn't know anything. I'm just not getting out enough these days." Merry set aside his pipe. "You look well." 

Pippin didn't reply, his eyes busy taking in Merry's face. His eyes dropped and caught sight of Merry's hands clenched tight about each other before the hobbit relaxed them. "I'm doing all right. Been busy." He breathed in, feeling the expected longing surge to the fore as if the last three months had not happened. "Are you very angry with me, Merry?" 

Merry glanced away and Pippin felt his heart plummet. It had to be pretty bad, then. "After all that talk of staying friends, and then you just up and disappear," he said. "What was I supposed to think?" Meriadoc turned resentful, dark eyes to his friend. "Why did you leave so suddenly?" 

Pippin blinked, mind trying to build a bridge over the truth and finding nothing to build that lie. "Maybe you should tell me why you needed to be so drunk you couldn't finish a full sentence, Merry." 

Merry winced as if that was the last thing he wanted to explain. "It's not ...I didn't do it on purpose..." 

Pippin inhaled sharply, at once sensing the lie. Glancing up into his friend's face, Merry seemed to realize that was absolutely the wrong thing to say, and opened his mouth to try to mend the monumental mistake. 

But Pippin, on top of a day full of anxieties, had had enough. "Meriadoc Brandybuck!" he cried. "You can lie to yourself all you want, but don't you ever lie to me!" 

"Pip--!" 

But Pippin couldn't stand it anymore, rising and leaving as quickly as he had appeared. He did not look back. 

There were only so many times you could cry yourself to sleep before even that became tiring, and you grew angry. Pippin was on the edge of rage, but he couldn't pin down just whom he should be angry with: himself, Merry or just life itself, which seemed determined to break them apart. 

He slept a little, then woke from a nightmare that made his sweat chill and his throat close, but could not remember what he had dreamed. He lay there in the darkness, picturing Merry's dismayed face before he had turned to leave, and felt his chest seize. There shouldn't have been such dark circles under Merry's dark blue eyes. Merry shouldn't be by himself like some old gaffer! What was going on? 

And why had Merry lied to him? 

He tried to think about that. Pippin knew Merry so well, that the lie had been obvious. It had surprised him, that Merry felt he had to lie over such a thing, but that led to the question: if Merry had gotten drunk on purpose, then why would he do such a thing? 

The easy answer was the Merry knew Pippin was in bed already, and was avoiding talking to him by getting himself monumentally sloshed. Pippin thought that was probably the correct assumption, but then came the question: why had Merry felt it necessary to avoid conversation? If Merry had been his oblivious self all along, he would not know that Pippin was dying to talk to him, to tell him... 

Which gave Pippin the answer that made him stare at the ceiling, wide-eyed in the dark. Merry had known. Merry knew. Maybe it was that tense moment in the woods in Hobbiton, or maybe he just finally did the math, but Merry somehow was aware of Pippin's feelings. He had known and said nothing. 

Pippin could only come to one ultimate conclusion, as dawn lightened the horizon and turned the light in his room gray. Merry knew Pippin was in love with him. 

And Merry didn't want to deal with it. 

Engagement parties weren't as concerned with presents. A good engagement celebration in the Shire consisted of: the best of related and friendly guests, as many speeches to embarrass the affianced couple as possible, and deluges of food and drink. Engagement parties had that distinction of being rather lively and potentially volatile, depending on the two families involved in the joining, and past histories. 

That 'Brandybucks were known to intermarry from time to time' was something of an understatement and proved the rule more than exception among hobbits in recent generations. Of course, certain conservative communities like Hobbiton frowned upon unions with the "stranger" and more liberal families, and thus people still spoke of Frodo's father's marriage to a Brandybuck as 'unfortunate.' 

This particular joining seemed acceptable on most fronts. Ilberic's mother had been a Bracegirdle, so Ilberic's choice hadn't seemed so strange, especially for a middle son. There was good will all about, boisterous dancing already beginning even in the afternoon. Pippin waved at several of his friends who waved him towards them. 

Fatty Bolger and his sister hugged him as sat him down with them. Fatty had no subtlety. "What's up with Merry and you?" 

Estella hit her brother in the shoulder. "Freddy Bolger! What a question!" 

"Well, everyone's saying --!" 

Pippin stopped his beer halfway to his mouth. "Everyone's saying what?" 

Fatty paused, suddenly unsure if he should with Peregrin Took's eyes focused on him. "Well, they're saying Merry's father made him stop the friendship. I mean, he looks so damned unhappy now, and then there's you staying in Tuckborough. Time was we'd see you two traveling back and forth, and now, nothing." 

"Fatty, it's nothing like that," Pippin replied earnestly. "We're just...arguing over things." 

"Is that what they call it?" Estella asked with a glint in her eyes. "You know, Athos Proudfoot has a big mouth, Pip. He's been saying other things." 

Fatty stared at her. "What are you talking about?" 

Este just smiled. "Really, Freddy, you're so thick-headed." She winked at Pippin, then pointed with her chin over his shoulder. 

He turned in his chair to see a group of five Brandybucks, Berilac and Meriadoc at their head, entering the party field. 

"What a handsome troop those Bucklanders are," Estella sighed. "Too bad half of them wouldn't give a girl a second look." 

"Este!" Fatty cried, but Pippin laughed. 

"You mean Berilac? He's a hopeless case. I think he was flirting with me last night, but that would almost seem...conceited. Berilac is rather picky." 

Estella laughed a leaned over to pinch Pippin's cheek. "Oh, come now. I think you're a very handsome young man. Berry shouldn't be flirting with you, though. He's at least a decade older." She turned her head, frowning. "Wasn't that Athos just passing by?" 

Pippin turned to see, but the crowd was getting thick, and he wasn't sure what he'd seen was Athos Proudfoot or some other sandy-haired hobbit. As he was narrowing his eyes, trying to search the crowd, he saw Merry settling down with his group, and first round of beers go around. He refused to watch further, and grinned at Este. "What say we take a turn? Are you as itchy-footed as I am?" 

"More so," she answered, but took his arm and let him lead her into the reel they had just begun to play. 

It was good to dance with a talented partner, and Pippin forgot for a while that he'd had little to no sleep the night before. Estella good-naturedly begged off after a second dance, but Pippin had to barely turn about to find another eager partner. There seemed a large number of local lasses invited, most probably single friends of Camelia Bracegirdle, Ilberic's intended. 

He took a break after five dances, and headed for the food that he knew was located at the other end of the field. He was loading down his plate with a few of his favorite things, when he saw two familiar Brandybucks on the opposite end of the table. Before he could look away, Berilac caught sight of him and waved, causing Merry to look over. The subdued expression on his face did not bode well, but he smiled just the same. Pippin nodded his hello. 

Their trajectories met at the middle of the buffet over a dish of mushroom gravy. Merry and he reached for the ladle at the same time, paused, then glanced at each other. Pippin couldn't help laughing. They had a long history of fighting over the last bit of mushrooms at the table. Merry hesitantly grinned back. 

"You should be sitting with us, my lad," Berry pronounced. 

"I'm having a well enough time with Fatty and Este," Pippin protested. 

"Then bring them over as well," was the reply. 

Pippin tried to think of a polite way out, but couldn't in all conscience say no. "I'll speak to them," he answered, wondering if Merry would rather not have them present. But Merry would never say so aloud in company. 

Freddy and Estella were more than willing to move; they gathered tankards and plates and took them over where the Bucklanders began to clear the table for them. There were already several empty platters and cups, but if beer was consumed in any high qualities, it was impossible to tell from general behavior. 

Pippin surmised that Merry didn't want him there, because the Brandybuck seemed to go out of his way to avoid eye contact. Pippin made a valiant attempt to act as if nothing was wrong, but caught Estella looking at him once or twice, obviously worried. Once he caught her watching him chewing his nails, and he deliberately lowered his hands. 

As the day progressed, the engaged couple did the rounds of the guests, accepting well wishes and embarrassing toasts. Pippin tried very hard not to keep count of how much liquor Merry was drinking, but as day descended into dusk and the lanterns were lit, he was on the fine edge of frustrated rage. Once again, Merry was drinking too much. 

He got up several times to dance, as did most of the bachelors at the table, except for Merry. After a brisk romp with an apple-cheeked Bracegirdle cousin-to-be, he returned to the table to find Merry finishing off yet another tankard. Merry glanced up at him and then immediately away. 

Pippin just stood there, anger welling up in him. His upset was obvious to even Berilac, whose conversation petered out. More and more guests at their table stopped talking until finally Merry was forced to confront the silently glowering Took. 

"Go ahead and say it, Pip," he growled resentfully. 

"Must be easy to lie to yourself when you're continually drunk, Merry," Pippin replied. 

Merry stood unsteadily. The dark glare he gave Pippin almost made his friend step back. "And this from Master Honesty himself," he returned with slow deliberate cruelty. 

"At least I deal with my problems!" 

"By running back to the Smials? That's really confronting the issues, isn't it?" 

"You were drunk all the time! How can anything be--" He stopped, finally realizing that the two of them were the center of a vast, stunned silence. As he glanced around, he saw Athos Proudfoot pass behind Berilac and then Merry, but didn't realize he'd said anything until Merry's eyes widened and he whirled around. 

Then Merry was on top of Athos and chaos erupted. The Brandybucks yelled and friends came running. Pippin slipped around the table, horrified, trying to make out from the two wrestling bodies what was happening. Berry grabbed him by the arm. 

"What happened?" Pippin asked him. "What did Athos say?" 

"I only heard part of it. Something about a lover's quarrel? Do you have something to tell me, Pip my lad?" 

Pippin stared at him briefly, then turned back to the fight, worried. He couldn't see how it was going, but finally a couple of burly patrons pushed their way in through the crowd and yanked the two apart. Pippin fought his way to Merry's side at the sight of blood, but one look at Athos and he knew it wasn't Merry's. Still he was pretty scraped up. 

Once it was ascertained that both parties were done fighting, Merry was turned over to his friends and Athos was led back to his. Berry took one look at his cousin, and said to Pippin: "Take him back to his room. And, Pip, talk to him." 

Pippin nodded. "Come on, Old Man." He let Merry lean on him and they made their slow way back to the Red Hen. 

The innkeeper came rushing at the sight of the disreputable picture they made. Pippin asked for ice as they both got Merry up the three stories and into his sitting room. He fetched the basin and pitcher, and kneeling down to study the effects of the fight, he sighed over the scrapes and bruises on his friend's face. He wet a cloth and carefully stroked away dust, sweat and blood, and was relieved to find that the flesh underneath was relatively all right, despite appearances. The innkeeper returned with ice chips and Pippin thanked him. 

"All right, chin up," Pip warned, wrapping the ice and pressing it against Merry's knuckles, which were already swelling. Merry hissed, but that was the extent of his reactions. 

After a while, he had Merry remove his dusty coat as they switched the ice to the other hand. The silence stretched. Finally, Pippin asked: "What did that Athos say that made you so mad?" 

Merry looked away for a moment, then let out a breath, obviously deciding that honesty was the best policy. "He said 'A lover's quarrel? Why don't you give up and hand him over to Berilac; he'll know what to do.' There was something else, but he never finished." 

Pippin knelt there with his mouth open. He couldn't help it. "Well, I hope you got him in the mouth, Merry!" 

His friend let out a startled laugh. "Ay, that was what I was aiming for." 

"What has Athos got against you, I wonder?" Pippin reflected aloud. "He always seems so bitter." 

Merry cleared his throat. "I refused him once. He didn't take it very well." 

Pippin's eyes widened, and many pieces fell into place. "How are you feeling?" he asked after another silence. "Do you feel like a lay-in for a bit? I can help you to the bed." 

Merry stared at him, and Pippin tilted his head, waiting, not sure why Merry seemed to have a problem answering. 

"No?" 

"Pippin," his friend said. "When did you figure it out?" 

Somehow Pip knew what he was talking about. "Last night, I suppose. I couldn't sleep." 

"Me neither," Merry admitted. His head bowed. "Pip, I'm such a coward." 

"Merry..." 

"I am! Why can't I stop denying everything?" 

Pippin felt a small spark a hope. "Are you denying ...something?" Something besides me loving you without hope? 

Merry's head dropped even more, until Pippin was staring at a thick mop of black hair. "Pip..." 

That hoarse voice was alarming. "Merry, it's all right. Maybe ...maybe, if you'd rather not say, it's best not to--" His voice trailed away as Merry raised his head, his dark eyes strangely intense. Pippin's heart thumped. "I'll be quiet now." 

Merry's lips turned up. "Pip, I do love you." 

Pippin swallowed. "But..?" 

Merry's eyes burned. "But...it's hard for me. I think you're too young, and then I think I'll lose you if I mess this up. Then I think, wouldn't it be easier just not to admit to myself what I feel, and let everything stay the same?" 

Pippin felt tears well and spill but he dared not blink, nor breathe. But he knew his whole face was a question that Merry would have to answer. 

"But then, you went back to Tuckborough and I couldn't...couldn't keep telling myself things would be the same. It was all one big lie!" 

Pippin waited, breathless. 

"But then I saw you yesterday, and all the fear came back, all the doubts, and it was easier to take up the old lie than to be fearless and face you..." 

Pippin couldn't stand it. "Merry, it's all right. Really. I shouldn't have left that way..." 

"Shh, you fool. I'm trying to get it all out." 

Pip ducked his head, and wiped at his wet face. "All right." 

"I've missed you...terribly, and dreamed about you almost every night, but they kept turning into nightmares." Merry blinked away moisture in his eyes. "I can't live if you leave me again!" 

"Merry--!" Pippin cried, and threw his arms about Merry's knees, leaning his cheek against them. "I didn't mean to hurt you so! I just thought I was saving myself pain!" 

Merry's fingers combed through gold-touched curls, as he nodded, attempting to recover himself. He cleared his throat. "I think that was the best thing you could have done. How long would I have kept lying to myself if you hadn't given me time to consider how bleak it would be without you?" 

Pippin raised his head. "What do we do, Merry, if I love you, and you love me? Do we go on as before--?" 

That familiar gleam came to Merry's indigo eyes. "I should hope not, innocent Took. I'm not pouring my heart out just to take everything back to the beginning!" 

Pippin's cheeks warmed and Merry smiled in return. 

"Come here," Merry whispered, tugging at Pippin's elbows, making him rise above the seated hobbit. He slid hands about his waist and wedged Pippin between his knees. "You've kissed me before, you little sneak. Now do it when I can appreciate it." 

Pippin's blush deepened. "Oh Merry, this is so much harder." 

Merry slid a hand behind Pippin's neck, bringing him close. "Oh, I should hope so," he breathed, and brought their mouths together. Pippin groaned, squirming as close as possible as Merry's tongue nudged his lips open and slid in. A drunk and befuddled Merry had passively accepted Pippin's first hesitant kisses, and now he understood that his bravery had been born of the knowledge that Merry would not remember them. Merry was now very aware, and active in this shared pleasure, guiding the angle of Pippin's head, pulling him as close as possible with the other hand. By the Lady, Merry knew how to kiss, taking over Pippin's inexperienced beginning, and locking Pippin into a hot exchange of lips and tongues. 

Pip whimpered when Merry pulled back and levered himself out of the chair, propelling Pippin backwards. "Merry?" he moaned, greedily pulling Merry back for more. 

"Ah, Pip, don't--!" Merry evaded him, pushing him through the bedroom door. Pippin began cooperating when he realized they were headed for the bed. He let Merry take his coat off, but blindly sought closer contact, as Merry cursed over the removal of his shirt. 

"Forget the shirt!" 

"I wish I could!" Merry growled, backing Pippin against the edge of the bed, his hand descending to palm what was growing in Pippin's breeches. Pippin cried out in aroused amazement, flinging desperate arms about Merry's shoulders. 

"Oh Merry!" His hips rose to the pressure, and he sobbed in frustration when he couldn't get close enough. 

Merry seemed pleased with Pippin's growing erection, and groaned. "Oh, yes," in Pip's ear. He licked at the upswept tip there while his palm drew up and down the shaft. "Ah, Love, yes." Merry's mouth descended to Pippin's throat, gently gnawing. "I used to dream of this; I used to ...come from this, feeling you..." 

All Pippin could do was clutch at Merry, and whimper. 

"Don't you touch yourself?" the older hobbit breathed. 

"Yes, but not like...not like this..." Pippin burrowed his heated face into Merry's shoulder. 

"I know," Merry murmured. "I know." He removed his hand. "On to the bed, now." He gently pressed Pippin down onto the linens, then impatiently unlaced his own shirt and pulled it over his head. 

Pippin felt his eyes go wide, finally seeing the body he had always known was there, and the thing he'd never been aware of. Merry's very obvious erection mounded the front of his pants. 

Mounting the bed and straddling Pippin, Merry proceeded to unbutton Pippin's shirt, landing a kiss over each inch of smooth flesh revealed by his efforts. He finished, and lay open the sides of the shirt, sitting back on his heels to look at the result. Pippin was breathing shallowly, his cheeks flushed and his eyes bright and unfocused. 

Merry's mouth watered and his hands itched out of a desire to touch. He followed the longing of his eyes, bending down to mouth skin that shivered and leapt under his lips. He tongued at Pippin's tempting pink nipples, running hands along his narrow ribs and waist, delving fingers under the trouser waistband. When he gently worried the tender nipples with his teeth, Pippin's hips rose. He gasped, a soft sound, equal parts startled, wounded and aroused. 

Fingers clenched into Merry's hair as he abandoned Pippin's chest and caressed down the lines of ribs to the gently rounded softness of the belly. He could feel Pippin's erection as he moved lower, stopping when he could go no further. He backed away, unbuttoning the obstructing material while Pippin stared at him with blurry eyes that spoke wordless encouragement. 

"Have you ever made love?" Merry asked, although he thought he knew the answer. 

"N-No, I'm sorry..." Pippin breathed, eyes riveted on Merry's hands, Merry's scraped, beautiful hands. 

"Don't be sorry, Sweeting. You're perfect as you are, so beautiful..." He slid Pippin's pants and underwear down, setting free the waiting and eager organ beneath. While Merry murmured his approval, Pippin thought he might burn up from embarrassment, wondering how Merry could see beauty there. 

"If you could only see yourself," Merry whispered. "How lovely you are...everything begging for use, but your cheeks blushing your innocence..." 

Pippin helplessly blushed even more. When Merry dropped his hand and measured Pippin, sliding it over until he found the moisture weeping from the head, Pippin thrashed, biting his lips against crying out. 

"Good?" Merry asked unnecessarily. "I can make it even better." 

He lowered his head. Pippin raised himself to his elbows, mystified, then shouted in amazement as Merry pressed an open-mouthed kiss to the head. 

"Merry, what--!?" 

Merry raised dark eyes to his, and his smiling, upturned mouth opened, and swallowed the tip. Pippin found himself on his back trying not to scream and Merry slowly took him down his throat while his hands caressed Pippin's hips, keeping them firmly to the surface of the bed. 

Merry drew out the pleasure so finely, that Pippin lost track of his pleading cries, submerged under drowning, killing pleasure. Merry's mouth was so wet, and his lips sealed tight up and down on Pippin's sex so indescribably hot. He was going to die! No one could survive this! 

"I...I can't live through this...Merry...!" he gasped, his whole body shivering in pleasure as if were going to fly into a thousand pieces. 

Merry chuckled in response, and proved to Pippin how wrong he was. An electric shock, wholly unexpected, shot up Pippin's spine, and then he did come apart, feeling as if his soul had fractured while his body arched, frozen in unbelievable pleasure. 

"You can live through it, Sweeting," Merry assured him, releasing him gently as he lay there panting, stunned. "It just feels as if you've died." 

Pippin blinked sweat out of his eyes, all of him paralyzed in amazement. Happily, he hugged Merry as his lover settled beside him. 

"Still love me?" Merry asked in a teasing voice, and Pippin could only laugh. "The biggest cowardice of it all was the night of my birthday, Pip. I was so afraid I'd do this to you, just leap right on top of you like some starved wolf." 

"I wish you had," Pippin murmured, imagining it. "I don't think I would have protested." He tucked his head against Merry, reveling in the quiet moment. "But what of you?" he asked, feeling the unmistakable pressure of Merry against his hip. He realized that Merry hadn't even removed his trousers. 

"What of me?" Merry returned with an inquisitive lift of the eyebrows. 

Pippin ducked his head, feeling more nave than ever. "I mean, do you want me to..." He glanced down pointedly. "I don't know how, but if you helped, I'm sure I could..." 

Merry's eyes glittered. Pippin held his breath, stunned by their sudden intensity. "I want to make love to you, Sweetheart, but only when you're ready. So don't be anxious on my account. I can take care of it." 

Pippin frowned. "That's hardly fair!" He sat up fully, glaring down at Merry. "You take off all my clothes and touch me...all over..." He blushed yet again. "...and now here you are still in your trousers and still with a ..." He didn't know the word for it. 

"What do you propose we do about it?" Merry asked curiously, leaning his head on his hand. "Or would you rather do something about it?" 

Pippin had a sudden clear image of touching Merry's sex, of taking it in his mouth as Merry had. He was surprised that he was getting hard again from the idea. 

This didn't escape Merry whose eyebrows lifted. "Well..." he drawled. "...it seems you do have an idea that appeals to you. What is it?" 

"Could...could you show me how to...do what you did?" Pippin faltered, embarrassed. 

"Sweetheart, are you sure? That's a lot to handle..." 

"Meriadoc Brandybuck! I may be new to this and all, but give me some benefit of the doubt! I'm not a total sheep's brain, you know." 

Merry suppressed a grin. "No, of course not. I should treat you like an equal, right? An inexperienced equal?" 

"Exactly." 

Merry leaned up and kissed that pouting mouth. "You're too adorable when you want your own way. All right, then." He unbuttoned his pants, lifted up and slid everything down. 

Pippin caught his breath. Lovely, even there! 

Merry had to smile at the awed expression on Pip's face. The little fool had no idea of his own beauty, obviously. 

"You don't have to do what I did, exactly," he said. "That takes some practice. But kissing and touching are nice." 

Pippin's cheeks went red again, but casting an eye downward, Merry could see the idea had some appeal for his lover. 

"Can...I start, here?" Pippin asked, running a shy hand down Merry's chest. 

"Sweeting, you can start anywhere you like, just as long as you end at the right place." 

Pippin giggled, which made Merry grin in response as he settled back. Pippin draped over him, pressing slow kisses against his clavicle, and then lower. He hesitantly touched Merry's nipples, obviously unsure of the degree of pressure necessary. In a low voice, Merry told him how to do it, and closed his eyes as he became Pippin's living experiment. Each hesitant lift of the head was a signal that Pip needed encouragement, which Merry was happy to give, though his voice was now husky from his constant state of arousal, and his hands shaky when he reached down to guide his new lover. 

Pippin became surer and surer of himself by degrees, and Merry became increasingly uncertain whether he would hold off long enough to allow Pippin to bring him off. He tried not to imagine turning them over and sinking into the adorable little Took, because every time such an image took over, he knew his control slipped that much more. 

Finally Pippin's soft lips found the base of his belly and Merry had to grab the linens, pressing his whole body back in a deliberate attempt to not curl forward and grab at a conveniently located mop of golden-brown hair. He tried to concentrate on the feel of the bed underneath him, the coolness of fabric, anything but what was happening. He so wanted to give Pippin time to deal with this new pleasure, time Merry himself had never had. 

But it was no good thinking along those lines. Done was done. First times were often not the best times. 

Pippin kissed the tip, and nuzzled along the length. Merry's mouth dropped open and he drew in desperate breath. He could get through this; he could. For Pippin's sake. 

He should have remembered that Peregrin Took had something of an oral fixation, and that between pipes, food, drink, fingers, and nails, Pippin always seemed to have something in his mouth. Pippin's tongue swept the length, and Merry knew he was getting used to the flavor in just that little hesitation towards the end. He did not dare look or he knew he would come before he ever slid into that fantastic mouth. He wanted to feel that, finally. 

"Merry." 

"Mm?" 

"Are you close?" 

"Mm." 

"I want to suck on it like you did, but I'm not sure..." 

Oh, hell, Merry thought, opening his eyes. If Pippin said 'suck' one more time he'd spend himself all over the lovable fool. He murmured the aid that Pippin was asking for, the only instructions he was capable of giving, and groaned as Pippin followed through with them. Oh, that mouth... that mouth was going to destroy him. 

Pippin took to him like a child with precious candy he did not want to waste, but who was greedily determined to get every inch of pleasure from it. Merry found himself arching back and suddenly aware that his knuckles were stinging from the pressure he was putting on them as he clenched at bed linens. That little pain distracted him enough to calm him slightly, and he was able to relax and accept the pleasure. 

But Pippin was learning quickly what made his body twitch with arousal, what caused soft groans to vibrate from his throat, what brought him closer and closer to release. Merry mentally cursed the learning curve that would inevitably bring this to conclusion, but helplessly imagined what other things Pippin might take to so easily. 

"Pippin..." he gasped, lifting his hips just enough to wedge himself a little further into that heavenly heat, instinct warring with caution. "Harder...please..." 

He could feel Pip shift a bit, then the hand that was holding him erect to accept his mouth tightened and pulled up. Merry almost came off the bed with it, especially when Pippin's mouth began to work harder at keeping up a faster pace, and his hand began to pump at the base. 

Merry was licking his lips, thinking that he would have to tell Pippin he was going to come, and the next thing he knew, he was flying. The rough shout he heard coming from his own throat shocked him. He'd been accused of being a quiet lover before. 

Perhaps one just needed incentive. 

He was blinking his eyes when Pippin catapulted into his arms, eager to hear how well he'd one. An eager student. Lady, help him. 

How had they come all this way, and who had he to thank for it? He wished he knew. He had made all the mistakes possible, and here was his little love, in his arms, and all the lies he'd told himself availed him nothing. 

He murmured into Pippin's airy curls, holding him tight, and was already falling asleep when the silly Took yawned into his throat: "Still love me?" 

He hoped it took the rest of his life to make sure Pippin never doubted it again.


End file.
